It’s like a scar. It’s pink for a time and then it fades. But it will always be a scar.
A reminder of the thing that left it. You can’t just remove a scar, especially the really deep one. You bang it on the table or catch a glimpse of it in the mirror just as you step out of the bath when you are vulnerable. It’s life and it’s made of the scars. I can’t just take a deep breath and release the bitterness about my family, or let go of the way I missed saying goodbye to my grandfather, or to forget that one terrible day when I lived and someone else died, or often even the tinest little words I said or were said to me.
I was thinking how I am aware of the things I have experienced and how I just can’t let go. I’ve talked them in circles all the while trying to let them go. Trying to release them back into the wild and out of the cages I made for them. However, as much I might want to, these marks are more than a feeling and in fact are the very things that tore right to the core of my heart..spilled blood and torn flesh forever tinged red.
So, I know today how I am going to be a bit easier on myself. Instead of seeing it as failure, I am just trying to tell the story differently. Oh, that, that was the time I stole second base and tore my knee ligament. See how I am walking and able to run and move just fine now.
It’s just a scar.